


Oh Baby,

by MooseFeels



Series: flow morphia, slow [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Roleplay, Safewords, Sexual Roleplay, Trauma, Vampires, happened offscreen in the past, i'm tagging this rigorously bc im invested in ya'll not getting hurt, this is pretty tame but POV is kind of weird and again! invested in not hurting yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: Viktor comes home, at night, in the dark.He thinks he comes home to an empty apartment.





	Oh Baby,

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i tagged this really aggressively because i was really unsure about how to appropriately tag it and i dont want anyone to get hurt.

Viktor comes home from work and tosses his keys on the couch and hangs up his scarf.

"I'm home!" he calls, to no one in particular, out of habit more than anything. It's been a long time since he's lived with anyone else. Some things, though, he cannot shake. 

He walks into the kitchen and loads the fridge-- some spinach and a flat of steak-- before he pours himself a glass of water and pulls the--

"Hello," someone says.

Viktor drops the glass on the floor, turns around.

There's someone standing there, in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. 

Viktor is suddenly painfully aware of not turning on the kitchen light, of the long shadows spreading from the window above the sink, the light slipping betwixt the slats of the blinds. Viktor's aware of the insulating rain falling outside, the water still heavy on his hair. He's aware of how well insulated his apartment is. He's aware of locking his door before he left. Of it still being locked when he got home.

Viktor swallows. 

"Aren't you happy to see me?" They say.

Viktor tries to find his voice. It takes a moment. He backs up, against his sink. "Who's there?" he says. 

He sounds braver than he feels. 

The person is wearing a suit. The man is. In the light slipping in, Viktor can tell that much.

Lightning casts sudden light. Viktor sees more, just enough to tell that the suit is badly fitted. That the stranger wear no necktie. That his shirt is unbuttoned low. That he's pale. That his eyes are dark. Clever. Predatory.

"Who-- who are you?" Viktor asks. If he were braver, he thinks maybe he'd reach for a knife.

The man steps into the kitchen, across the darkness, directly into Viktor's personal space. He grabs Viktor's shirt by his buttons, fist tight, and drags Viktor low, to his level. 

Lightning, again. A red, red mouth. Dark hair. A heavy gaze. 

"My pet, don't you remember? Our standing arrangement." 

Viktor didn't realize thunder could wait like that. He didn't realize that thunder could set across him a wave of anxious shivering. Of something else.

"Who are you?" Viktor whispers, but slowly he starts to know.

The man slips Viktor's buttons open. Runs his cool hand over Viktor's chest. 

"That's right," the man says. "Now Vitya remembers."

Viktor flinches. 

"So sensitive," the man says, his voice a low hush. "Don't be frightened, pet. I'd never hurt you."

"Who are you?" Viktor asks again, on more time. His voice barely above a whisper. 

When he smiles, Viktor can't help but stare at his white, white teeth.

"I'm Yuuri," he answers. "Who else?"

Viktor's breath stutters over his lips. He shakes a little, as this man, as this  _ Yuuri _ , pulls him in close and kisses him. 

Yuuri, this man, he kisses like he is taking. Like Viktor has something hidden and he must plunder it. His tongue dives into Viktor's mouth as his arms wind over Viktor's shoulders, his hands pressing him forward, deeper. Viktor can't help it, he follows. 

Viktor can't help it. He doesn't know why. 

The man's nails scrape over the surface of Viktor's chest. Viktor hisses, breaking the kiss.

Yuuri pulls away, his face drawn into an expression that's like concern but dfferent. An expression Viktor knows can't be concern because this man has just appeared in his apartment, suddenly and eeriely. An expression that can't be concern because of the peculiar exaggerated turn of his lips, his overlarge pout. 

"Oh, pet," he whimpers. "Don't be so worried; I'll be gentle."

"Yu-yuuri," Viktor stutters, desperate. 

But he shakes his head, slow. He takes Viktor's face in his hand, his grip on his jaw cruel, commanding. 

"Not Yuuri," he hisses. " _ Sire _ ."

Memory crashes over Viktor like a wave. 

The darkness. 

The  _ teeth.  _

Viktor whimpers. 

"There he is," he whispers. His voice sharp, shaking something in Viktor to his core. "There's my Vitya."

Vitya. It rings around in his head. 

Vitya.

He looks down, into the dark, brown eyes. 

"There he is," Sire whispers. "There's my pet."

Viktor can't help it. He nods. His throat is dry. He swallows. 

"Take me back to the bedroom, Vitya," Sire says.

The word for this, it comes to him. 

_ Thrall. _

Vitya pulls him into his arms, his legs draped over his left arm, his back resting against his right. Sire nestles in closer to him, pressing his nose against the column of his neck, his lips leaving small kisses on his collarbones.

Vitya carries him to the bedroom and lays him gently on the bed, among his rumpled sheets and tossed pillows and wrinkled blankets. 

"Thank you, my pet," Sire murmurs. He sits up and pulls off his suit coat. Adjusts the cuffs of his shirt. "Come lie down, now."

Vitya sits on the bed and then lays back slowly. Does he shake? He thinks he does. But there's not much thinking here, in this place. 

Sire leans over and unbuttons Vitya's shirt, all the way. He runs his hand over his chest. It leaves a phantom sensation all the way across. He brushes his thumb over Vitya's nipple; was he always so sensitive? 

Vitya feels his own breath, alien in his throat, in his lungs.

"I've been so hungry, Vitya," Sire purrs. "It's been days."

He pulls Vitya's shirt from his shoulders. Vitya leans up a bit to let him pull his shirt all the way off. 

"I know you like it more when I wait, though," Sire says. "When I'm ravenous."

"Yes," Vitya whispers. He's not sure why. 

Sire cups his face in his hands, looks at him deeply, seriously.

Vitya nods.

Sire licks his lips. 

He leans down low and lays his lips on Vitya's neck, and he bites. 

It's a rush, a collapsing feeling. Suddenly, pleasure fills Vitya, lights his nerves, his body, on fire. It's so much, the feeling of Sire's tongue, his teeth, his lips. The feeling both cruel and delightful, and all of it overwhelming and strange and so much. 

"Oh, Vitya," Sire says, pushing his hair out of his face, away from his forehead. His strong arm rest on top of his head for a minute, his spine curves, his hips rest forward. When did Sire straddle him? When did he throw his leg over his hips, resting his body weight over Vitya's own hips. 

His hands slip downward, to open Vitya's belt, to unbutton his pants, to pull them down just a bit. He pulls his boxers down, his hands lascivious. His touch is so hot, scorching over him. Sire pulls Vitya's pants down, all the way off. 

"I love how tall my pet is," Sire murmurs. "So long, like an odalisque."

Vityas whimpers.

"Oh, I  _ know _ my pet is simple," Sire continues. He settles back over Vitya's hips, runs the back of his nails up and down his sides, light and electric. "I know. I'll show you, one day. We'll see the treasures of the continent . We'll  _ take _ them. And you'll see." He leans in close, this predator, this demon, this monster in his bedroom.  _ "I'll make you see _ ," he hisses, between his teeth. 

Vitya whimpers. 

He pets the side of his face gently. It's the gentleness that scares Vitya most. 

Sire's brown eyes hold his seriously. He doesn't look away; Vitya can't. 

Sire reaches smoothly, confidently, between Vitya's legs and grasps his erect cock. The pleasure crackles under Vitya's skin, and he cries out. He strokes his thumb up and down the length of Vitya's cock before firmly, ecstatically, jacking him. 

Vitya thinks he screams. He's not sure.

He hears a susurrating of Sire's voice low in his ear. 

"Yes, my pet," Sire whispers. "Yes, Vitya, yes. Keep going. Keep give it to me. Give it to me."

It's the whiteness of being caught in a snowstorm, sweeping through his system and overriding any other sensation or thought he might have. 

It's so much. It's too much. It's so  _ good _ . It's everything. 

He's breathing. He feels like his chest has been hollowed out, his ribs expanding and contracting rapidly, a cage above his stomach. 

"Viktor?"

A hand on his stomach, so gentle. 

"Viktor?"

Darkness where he can't open his eyes. White spots in his vision, where he clenches his eyes too hard. 

"Viktor, are you okay? Viktor-- uh,  _ fuck _ , Foucault, okay-- Viktor, are you okay?" 

He nods. He tries to find his voice. 

"Can I do anything? I'm sorry-- I've never--"

Viktor shakes his head. He reaches over and takes his hand into his own, grips tightly. 

Yuuri grips back. 

Viktor comes back to himself slowly, one detail at a time.

Yuuri's firm, warm hand in his.

The weight of Yuuri's body next to him on the bed. 

The feeling of his sheets underneath him. The pillows beside him.  

The air on his skin.

The feeling of Yuuri's spit drying on his neck.

The feeling of his own come drying on his stomach. 

His apartment. 

He's here. 

It takes Viktor a moment to remember his English. 

"I'm okay, Yuuri," he says, his voice feeling a little hoarse. All of him feeling a little rough and coarse.

"Can I-- can I touch you?" Yuuri asks.

Viktor feels a laugh shake out of him suddenly. He curls in, pulling his legs and arms toward himself, turns on his side.

He looks up at Yuuri. 

His dark eyes concerned, serious. So utterly full of love and affection. 

His hand is so gentle where he brushes Viktor's bangs out of his eyes. His head turned to the side, to look at him fondly. 

"I didn't realize it would be so much," Viktor says, feeling tired and lazy.  

"I'm sorry," Yuuri says, immediately. "I can-- we don't--"

"It wasn't bad, Yuuri," Viktor answers. 

Yuuri stops. 

"It was a lot," VIktor says. "But it wasn't bad."

Yuuri thumb strokes over Viktor's cheekbone, the space under his eyes. 

Viktor's talked a little, before, about what happened. About how he became who he became. About the dark room, late in the night, not even the candles lit. About how badly it hurt. About how scared he was. 

Viktor doesn't know who made him. He didn't see his face. He didn't know his name. Viktor just knows he didn't stop, and when he woke up, finally, he was hungry. He was scared. He was alone.

"I was so nervous," Yuuri says, laughing a little. 

"I couldn't tell," Viktor mumbles. "You were perfect."

Yuuri strokes the top of Viktor's hand with his thumb. He looks down, at the mattress, before saying, "I only want to do that if you want to. If it's good for you."

"I know," Viktor answers. 

"And I want to talk about it," Yuuri says. "If you want to. I think we should."  


Viktor nods. 

Yuuri smiles. He settles down, onto the bed, facing Viktor. His brown eyes are so fond. So soft. So warm. It feels like sunlight, when Yuuri looks at him like this; warm and safe and gentle. "I guess maybe you should rest though," he says. His voice is low and quiet. "Maybe stop bothering you." 

"Stay?" Viktor asks, looking at him. 

Yuuri huffs a short laugh and rolls his eyes. "Of course," he answers.  "Can I get you anything? Washcloth?"

"Mmm," Viktor says. "I suppose. But come back."

Yuuri nods and slips away to the bathroom. When he comes back, he's in his boxers and a t-shirt, with a washcloth in his hands. He cleans up Viktor stomach and smiles at him. 

He kisses Viktor on the only scar he has left-- the brutal slash of punctures still at the base of his neck, just above his left collarbone. Viktor doesn't know why those won't heal, why they stay bone white and raised over his skin. 

His eyes settle closed.

"Viktor?" Yuuri asks. "Vitya, are you hungry?"

Viktor shrugs. He's always hungry. 

"Viktor," Yuuri says, softly.

Viktor cracks his eyes open. 

Yuuri has his hand offered in the space between them. Curled beside him on the bed, laying on a pillow. His eyes look tired and overwide. He must have taken his contacts out. 

"Please, don't be hungry," Yuuri says, his command so gentle.

Viktor wonders absently if maybe he _is_ a thrall to Yuuri after all. As he takes his hand carefully to his mouth, he wonders if such a thing would even be possible; a vampire in the thrall of a human. 

Viktor settle the top of Yuuri's wrist right along the seam of his own lips. He kisses Yuuri there, carefully. As sweetly as he can muster.

Yuuri sighs, softly. 

Viktor carefully, gently, bites at Yuuri's wrist. Yuuri's heart pulses, and blood flows into Viktor's hungry mouth. 

Yuuri shudders, his breath cutting on the air. Viktor looks up. Yuuri's eyes are lidded, his expression lost in some kind of strange pleasure. 

Eventually, Viktor licks one last time at the wound and fumbles to his nightstand for a bandage. He places one tight over the puncture and holds it in place until the warm flow stops. 

"I love you," Yuuri murmurs, drowsy.

"I love you," Viktor answers, falling slowly to sleep. 


End file.
